Carry On
by Josi Hamilton
Summary: Connie breaks down...


_Put one foot in front of the other…_

With every step you take in life there's a song playing in your mind. For the most part her song was a soulful number, with sexy lyrics and a catchy melody. But that night, in her office, at an hour too far past midnight for her to care to know, the song was slow and melancholy to match the heart wrenching grief that she'd finally taken the time to allow to catch up with her. The problem is that life goes on, when really all she had needed was to pause for a moment to deal with the feelings that she'd struggled for so long to hide, and carry on. Life had seemed awful lonely since that day, because although people had constantly surrounded her, She had never felt so detached, so alone. She felt so scorned, accusing stares bored into her skin. Everyone seemed to be out for a piece of Connie Beauchamp.

It was dark in her office, but for the glow of a single lamp, and it was this that caught the eye of her husband as he passed by on his way home. His first thought was that Connie had left it on in her haste to leave herself, her shift having finished earlier than his that day, but closer inspection revealed her curled up silhouette on the sofa. Knocking softly, he pushed the door open, causing Connie to jump up in surprise at having a visitor so late. "Michael." She stated, hiding her misery with great difficulty. "What can I do for you in the middle of the night?" Michael looked at her carefully, at the way her shoulders sagged, and her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, the way she looked vulnerable. The way she was blinking furiously to stop the tears in her eyes from falling down her cheeks in his presence. He had never seen her like this before, and it was all he could do to stop himself from rushing forward and holding her, trying to offer some kind of comfort, some kind of protection from the outside world. But he realised that Connie would hate the fact that her husband had seen her cry, hate him to know that she too had feelings.

"Are you alright?" he asked, gently, knowing full well what her answer would be before he'd even finished saying it, knowing that she would brush him off, send him as far away from her as she could. But from Connie there was no reply, she simply turned away from him, moving to the window and leaning her arms on the windowsill, staring down at the floor between her arms as her face contorted with grief. Michael watched her reflection in the window, worried for his strong wife, who now appeared to be broken. Silently he slipped his coat off and laid it over a chair, before tentatively walking towards her and placing a hand on her shoulder, feeling her muscles become tense as soon as he did. "Connie?" He spoke her name as a question, squeezing her shoulder gently. She shrugged him off, standing up and wrapping her arms around herself, not willing to speak.

Oh the humiliation, thought Connie, feeling her cheeks redden at the sight of his concerned eyes gazing at her, reflected in the window. Connie could not believe that Michael could see her like this, could see her on the brink of loosing it completely. Hanging her head, she closed her eyes, blocking her face from his view with her hand. Michael swallowed a lump in his own throat; the sight of her looking so helpless stirred something inside of him. He tried to offer her some comfort again, moving so he was in front of her and gently wrapping his arms around her. She buried her head in his chest, grateful for the fact that her face was obscured from his view. He stroked her hair gently, allowing her to cry. Eventually she looked up at him, her watery eyes desolately meeting his. "Thank you." She whispered, before detaching herself from him and moving back over to her sofa, slumping down miserably onto it. Michael watched this, before going to sit beside her.

She sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. She stared down at the floor, not reacting as Michael sat down beside her. "Connie." Michael's voice was gentle and coaxing, and she shivered as she felt his hand rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. "Conn…I'm here if you need to talk." He told her. She remained quiet for a while, staring at the floor, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over once more.

"I don't want to need you right now." She whispered, looking up at him slowly. She swallowed deeply, trying to quell the emotions that were threatening to consume her. She concentrated on the feeling of his hand still rubbing her shoulder, the soothing way in which is moved back and forth, massaging some of the tension away. She watched his eyes, noticing how deeply concerned he appeared to be.

"I know." He told her quietly. "But maybe now's the time to let me in." He reached out and gently brushed the tears off of her cheeks with his thumb, stroking her hair away from her eyes. She nodded a little bit and clasped her hands together in her lap, staring down at them."

"When Will d…" she began, her voice catching. She swallowed once more and began again, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. "When Will died, I really thought I could cope…I really thought I could carry on like everything was normal. The funny thing is that as much as everyone blames me for what happened, they could never blame me as much…as much as I blame myself. I should have been able to save him, I should have been able to fix it but I couldn't… I did everything I could, but the best I could do was not good enough. I promised him…I promised that he wasn't going to die. I made him a promise, the biggest promise you can ever make and I broke it. And now…now…now he's gone, and I never got the chance to tell him how talented he was. What if he died thinking I hated him? What if he died ha…hating me?" Connie's face crumpled at the thought of this, and she felt Michael's arms holding her tightly as she began to sob, and big wet tears began to roll uncontrollably down her cheeks. He stroked her hair gently, before lifting her face up to look at him, brushing away the tears from her cheeks with his fingertips and looking deep into her sad eyes.

"Will's death is not your fault Connie." He told her, firmly, holding eye contact with her despite the fact that she was crying and he was close to tears himself. "It's not your fault."

"But everyone is right Michael." She told him through the tears, shaking her head slightly. "If I hadn't have put him in the paper in the first place..."

"Noone could have anticipated that Jodie Maxwell would turn up because of that Conn. Plenty of people are in the papers every day without psychotic women coming and trying to run them over. It was just one of those things." Michael shook his head at the thought of this, stroking Connie's arm gently.

"I was horrible to him Michael. He tried to resign at least twice…" She looked down at her hands sadly, her tears subsided for the moment, and Michael realised that for now at least, he would not be able to convince her of anything she did not want to believe. He squeezed her shoulders gently, and wiped her cheeks with his fingertips once more.

"Come on sweetheart… I'm going to take you home." He told her, soothingly. He watched as she slowly stood up, rubbing her face with her hands and running her fingers slowly through her hair. She crossed the room and picked up her coat, pulling it on and wrapping it tightly around herself. Michael got up and put his own coat on, picking up Connie's bag and switching off the lamp before guiding Connie swiftly out of the building.

When they arrived home, Michael let them in and Connie immediately walked off upstairs. Michael watched her silent withdrawal worriedly, but said nothing for the time being, instead heading for the kitchen and making a pot of tea. Five minutes later, he carried a steaming mug in each hand and made his way upstairs. Putting his head round their bedroom door, he found Connie, wearing her pyjamas and dressing gown, sat curled up at the head of the bed. He walked into and handed her one of the mugs of tea, before sitting down beside her on the bed. "It won't hurt forever you know." He told her, quietly.

"I know. But I might feel guilty forever…" She replied sombrely, before taking a sip of the hot liquid.

"It's not your fault Connie." Michael stated, comfortingly. "It's her fault."

"Yes but…I made his life miserable." Connie looked up at Michael to see the surprise on his face at her admission. " I lead him on…for about six months. Kept teasing him, making little comments, you know? I just, enjoyed watching him squirm. He was clearly devoted to Susan, but it was harmless banter, nothing more. Then at Ric Griffin's 50th, we were talking and he walked off into the bedroom…I followed and he kissed me…" Connie paused, the memory of Will's soft lips on hers almost too much to bear. "…I kissed him back, pushed him down on the bed. He was ready to risk his marriage, everything, for me. And I told him…I told him…I told him I just needed to know I could have him. He hated me ever since." Connie could feel her eyes filling up with tears once more. She couldn't look at Michael, so instead stared down into her mug, watching the ripples in the surface as her tears fell in.

"Connie..." Michael said, softly, putting his own mug down on the bedside cabinet so that he could put his arms around her. "…Conn, before he died, Will knew that you had done everything that you possibly could have done to save him, he knew that you'd gone much further lengths than you normally would have done. He thanked you for that. He knew you didn't hate him, and he certainly didn't hate you Conn, he was grateful…I think he forgave you."

Connie nodded at this, taking great comfort not only in Michael's words, but also his arms, wrapped tightly around her, protecting her from the outside world. She put her mug down and cuddled back up to him. It was dark in the bedroom, but for the glow of a single lamp, which illuminated her face and highlighted the now drying tracks of her tears running down her cheeks. As they sat there, his arms tightly around her protectively, her head resting on his chest, his head resting on hers, she realised that she couldn't just forget and continue with life as if nothing had happened. At least now she had allowed herself to begin to grieve for him, allowed herself to be able to begin to deal with all of the things that were wrong in her life. She felt Michael kiss her hair and smiled slightly, knowing that no matter how bad things got she would always have him. Tonight had just enforced that for her. And as long as she had his love and support to keep her above the surface then she knew that things would be okay. She knew she could get over her grief and carry on.

…_And carry on and carry on and carry on. _


End file.
